


Gargalesis

by mistyzeo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dry Humping, M/M, Sibling Incest, Teasing, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 17:53:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistyzeo/pseuds/mistyzeo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is sneaking his hands around Sam's sides again and digging his fingers into Sam's ribcage.  Sam jolts, dropping the pencil, and squirms away from Dean's grip.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gargalesis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lazy_daze](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazy_daze/gifts).



> Tickling porn for [](http://lazy-daze.livejournal.com/profile)[**lazy_daze**](http://lazy-daze.livejournal.com/) and [](http://balefully.livejournal.com/profile)[**balefully**](http://balefully.livejournal.com/) , because they asked nicely. :D Thanks to [](http://bewaretheides15.livejournal.com/profile)[**bewaretheides15**](http://bewaretheides15.livejournal.com/) for a beta of hotness level.  >.> What. Gargalesis is the scientific term for tickling to induce laughter. Now you know.

Sam slaps Dean's hands away from his sides, gritting his teeth. "Dean, stop it, I'm doing work."

"Homework is for squares, Sam," Dean protests, giving Sam another sharp jab in the ribs. "Dude, there's nothing on TV."

"You are such a child," Sam says. He has to finish the Calculus problem set by nine so he can make progress on a History paper due Thursday, and he's struggling with the integrations. Dean's bitching and moaning about work wasn't helpful, and neither is his invasion of Sam's personal space. Sam is sensitive about these things these days, and they never talk about why.

"Sammy," Dean whines again, in his ear now. Sam can feel his brother's warmth at his back, and he fights with himself over shrinking away and leaning in. Dean's hands land on his shoulders, huge and strong, and Sam flinches.

"Dean, seriously." Sam tightens his grip on the pencil. "I have to finish this stuff."

Dean breathes a sigh. "Okay," he says, and steps away.

Sam narrows his eyes, glaring at the problem set before him. Things are never that easy with Dean. He's right, of course, because it's only a moment or two before Dean is sneaking his hands around Sam's sides again and digging his fingers into Sam's ribcage. Sam jolts, dropping the pencil, and squirms away from Dean's grip.

"Dude, stop!"

"Ah ha," Dean cackles, and pokes him again. That's it. Sam's out of the chair in an instant, knocking Dean off balance and heading for the living room. He gets the kitchen table between them before Dean is after him again, and they have a moment's challenge darting back and forth on either side of it, trying to psych each other out. Finally Sam makes a break for the doorway, but Dean catches him as he goes through and propels the both of them straight for the couch. Sam's trapped in Dean's grip, helpless, and goes down hard into the cushions. He gets the breath just about knocked out of him, and then he's at Dean's mercy again as Dean finds all the sensitive, ticklish places up and down his body to exploit.

"Dean, stop!" Sam shouts again, choking on his laughter. The pressure of Dean's fingers is just shy of too hard, and he's managing to keep Sam pinned with his knees at the same time as he tortures him with his thumbs in the divots of Sam's hips. Sam writhes, giggling insanely, trying to push Dean off and getting nowhere. Dean isn't ticklish like Sam is– a few places will get him but only if Dean is surprised– and he's bigger than Sam. Not by much, though. Sam is sixteen and growing fast, and he knows he'll outpace his brother soon enough.

He manages to catch Dean's wrists at one point, long enough to catch his breath, and Dean grins at him. His face is red with effort, and he's sweating. Sam is panting, exhausted already, and they haven't even been at it that long. Dean is heavy, pressing him into the couch, and warm everywhere they're touching. Sam's body is humming with energy, tingling all over.

"Get off," Sam gasps, making a hopeless bid. He'll have to get Dean in a full nelson before Dean quits, or he'll have to cry. He'd rather not cry.

"This is way better than TV," Dean says. He yanks his hands out of Sam's grip and goes for him again, making Sam shriek. The stimulation is too much, too confused, and he's halfway between crazy pleasure and pain. Dean knows just how hard to press, how long to scratch, to make Sam go completely nuts. His shirt is rucked up around his armpits and Dean is pressing into bare skin now, skating his fingers up the line of Sam's sternum and down under his arms, bumping over his individual ribs in a way that make Sam lose all his air on a shout.

"Dean," Sam squeals, struggling for composure, "Dean, please!"

"Say uncle," Dean demands.

"No!" Sam howls.

Dean pauses for a moment, taunting, and grabs Sam again to make him jerk all over. "Say uncle!"

"Never!" Sam slaps at him, open-handed, not wanting to cause any real damage. He gets Dean on the shoulder, in the face, and Dean yelps when Sam strikes his cheek.

"Bitch!"

"Fucking jerk, get off me!"

"Say uncle."

Sam is going to cry soon, choking on hilarity, and he's nowhere near a full nelson. "Uncle," he pants, "fine, jesus, uncle. Let me go."

Dean sits back on his haunches, satisfied, and Sam freezes. This is why he can't let Dean do this kind of shit to him. _This_ is why.

"You okay?" Dean asks, his brow furrowing.

"Fine," Sam squeaks, pushing his ass into the couch. His dick is throbbing in his jeans, and he can feel where it's pressing against Dean's thigh. Jesus, god, he wants to disappear. He wants to melt right into the couch and never come back. How can Dean not have noticed? He's hard enough to pound nails, and Dean is sitting in his fucking lap.

Dean's face changes, going from worried to confused, and sliding quickly into smug amusement. "Didn't anyone teach you how to jerk off, Sammy-boy?"

"Dean, shut the fuck up," Sam snaps. "Get off me, okay?"

Dean smirks, shifting his weight and sliding his hands up Sam's sides again. Sam squirms, over-sensitive to the ticklish sensation, and ends up grinding his cock against his brother's ass. He gasps, going still again, mortified, but Dean spreads his thighs and shifts again. Now Sam can feel the bulge of Dean's groin against his own, and it's so wrong, and it's so good. Dean isn't hard yet, not like Sam is, but he's leaning down and getting in Sam's face, and his eyes have gone dark and hooded.

"That gets you hot, Sammy?" Dean asks, no more than a murmur, and Sam is fixated on his mouth. Dean licks his lips, a scant few inches from Sam's own, and Sam hears himself whimper. God, he is pathetic. His hands find purchase on Dean's hips, on the waist of his low-riding jeans, and Dean smiles.

"No," Sam says, shaking his head. It wasn't the tickling, not really, it was Dean and his hands and the mixed signals, and Sam is horny all the time and it never takes much of anything.

"Don't lie," Dean says. "Getting tickled makes you hot. That is so kinky, Sammy."

"Shut up!" Sam says again, pleading, but Dean is leaning even closer until Sam can taste his exhale-- beer and pasta for dinner and cheap mint gum. "Dean."

"Sam-my," Dean taunts, whispering now. His hands are stuffed down into the cushions behind Sam's head, and Sam's body is straining up to touch Dean's. He can feel the heat of Dean's chest and the weight of his hips, the ridge of his dick.

They shouldn't do this shit. They shouldn't have been doing it, and they shouldn't do it again, but Sam's libido is through the fucking roof and all Dean does is encourage him. Sam's cock throbs in his shorts, pulsing heavily, and the knowledge that Dean is right there with him sends Sam's pulse racing.

Dean kisses him, mouth wet and soft, and Sam licks in between his lips before he can stop himself. Dean moans, muffled, and pushes closer, rubbing his dick against Sam's and pressing their chests together. Sam can feel Dean breathing, in and out, quicker and shallower as Sam bites his lip and slides his hands up under the hem of Dean's t-shirt.

Dean growls, breaking away to bite his way down Sam's jaw and sink his teeth into the tendon of Sam's neck. Sam arches hard, back bowing, legs spreading, dropping Dean's ass down against the curve of his groin. His cock, straining at his zipper, twitches at the contact, and Dean sucks hard on the skin of his throat until it stings. He's leaving a bruise, and the knowledge of it sends a flush of heat through Sam so fast his head spins.

"Fuck," Dean mutters, grinding down into Sam's pelvis. His breath is wet and hot on Sam's neck and his hair is tickling the side of Sam's face. Sam clutches at him, rocking up and rubbing himself against the ridge of Dean's dick. His fingers dig into the curve of Dean's ribs and Dean yelps suddenly, twisting away.

"Wh--" Sam starts, breathless in his arousal, but Dean rears back, sitting hard on his hips and glaring at him.

"Don't play dirty, Sammy," he warns.

"I didn't--" Sam says, reaching for him, and Dean slaps his hands away. He wriggles his hands in under Sam's armpits and attacks, fingers dancing up and down Sam's sides until Sam is breathless again laughing, trapped and forced to endure the assault. His cock is as hard as ever and crammed against Dean's ass, and Dean keeps wriggling to keep up with Sam's uncontrollable flailing. Sam tucks his arms down tight against his sides, trying to avoid Dean's wicked fingers, but Dean leans over him again and kisses him. It's distracting, and Sam resists, but Dean rubs his ass in a tight circle and smooths his hands over the sensitive nerves of Sam's skin and Sam is back to desperate in an instant.

"Please," he gasps, "Dean," and Dean grabs him quick, just enough to make him jump.

"C'mon," Dean whispers, rocking against Sam and spreading his hands all the way around Sam's ribs.

Sam knows it's impossible, but it feels like Dean can reach from his breastbone to his spine, warm and firm and huge, and he's the only thing keeping Sam from flying right out of his skin. Sam's gonna come, his body hot and confused and overstimulated, his cock rubbing raw through the layers of their clothes, the pleasure on the edge of pain. His balls are tight and so fucking full, his cock swelling impossibly in his shorts.

"Sammy," Dean says, biting at his mouth and tucking his fingers into the soft, hollow, sweaty spaces under Sam's arms. Sam struggles, fingers clenching in Dean's shirt, and then he can't stand it any more. He grabs Dean's hips, spreading his knees as wide as they'll go, rubs his covered cock against Dean's body frantically, bumping against his balls, the seam of his jeans, the bulge of his dick. His whole body surges with his orgasm, and he shudders as he blows, hot and sticky and so fucking much, in his jeans. He can feel the mess he's making, the thick slide of come that catches in his pubes and blots at the sensitive head of his cock, the wetness leaking down his balls and the hollow of his hip. His boxers are soaked, warm and damp, and his cock twitches weakly with the aftershocks.

Dean hisses, "Shit," and sits back, too heavy on Sam's lap. He yanks his jeans open and shoves his hand inside, pulling his cock out just as Sam watches the muscles in his abdomen tighten, and then he's coming over his fist and Sam's bare belly, spurting all over Sam's jeans, thick and sticky. Sam can feel it landing on his stomach, hot like a brand, and his body jolts again like he's been electrified.

They're both red-faced and ridiculous. Sam knows his hair is a mess, all over the place from squirming like a crazy person against the couch. Dean is sweating and panting, and then he's smirking at Sam like none of it matters.

"Kinky bitch," he accuses.

"Fuck you," Sam says. He swallows and his throat feels raw. "You're a psycho."

"You smell like jizz."

"You're a pervert."

"Horn-dog."

"Ass-wipe."

"Twerp."

"Snot--" Dean cuts him off with swift jab to the ribs, and Sam squeals.

Dean grins at him. "I could go all night."

"Oh really." Sam means it to come out snarky, but his breath catches in the middle. "Bring it on."


End file.
